


Nice To Have

by ArtemisLunala, BabaTunji



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Cousin Incest, Infidelity, King Killmonger, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), References to Drugs, References to Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisLunala/pseuds/ArtemisLunala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: T'Challa goes to M'Baku when he needs respite.
Relationships: M'Baku/T'Challa (Marvel)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written ages ago and inspired to post by this fabulous fan art: https://twitter.com/tjadakaa/status/1359963982090633220?s=20  
> Set in a universe where N'Jadaka becomes king again following the snap and T'Challa's life is a mess for various reasons.

T’Challa starts his day with a growing headache. He wakes up alone in the king consort’s wing on the tail end of a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. The dream was a memory from a time he hadn’t expected to miss. Those first two shaky years of his reign as king, opening up Wakanda, the backlash and successes had come like waves. Despite it all, he had felt unstoppable, young, and utterly convinced of the path he was on. Now more than 8 years later he’s hard pressed to find a decision he made back then he didn’t hate.

He’s nursing a glass when he gets a notification that makes him want to throw the glass away. After some deep breaths he downs the rest and sends a short message in response. He hated the sender and he hated the Bast cursed ‘campaign’ that has taken over his life this year. A look at the time confirms what he already knows and before he can change his mind. He’s already gone to see him twice this month—any more times and someone might wonder—yet he finds himself changing clothes and stepping out of the king’s wing and palace proper entirely.

The evening is warm, and his breath quickly grows heavy in the veil he’s worn. He walks through the capital streets, past beautiful boroughs of Wakanda’s most honored elite and into the more common areas. One such square now belonging to the annexed Jabari Tribe.

From there he’s more cognizant of what he’s doing, and what he’s missing for this particular meeting. He shrugs the feeling of loss away and enters a familiar building, the men at the door only allow him entry when he bares his face. T’Challa climbs familiar stairs and walks past a life flashing warm blue light occasionally. Then stops short at the door to Lord M’Baku’s office. 

The feeling of loss from before flares and he pushes it down, later. Maybe after he’s negotiated whatever has his cousin ready to commit genocide… again. He would allow himself to take some Kef. Maybe.

The door slides open while he’s still deciding and M’Baku stares back, his expression not at all surprised.

"I was starting to think you weren't coming." M'Baku says. He was happy to see T'Challa, but he had a lifetime's practice hiding those emotions, burying them deep down or dulling them in an attempt to appear like a fierce and stoic warrior. "It's good that you're here."

"Come in, make yourself comfortable here." He steps aside from the door and motions for T'Challa to enter. 

The room itself was simple, furnished in items that bled with the spirit of the Jabari, rich dark woods and furs adorning every surface. Silk tapestries on the walls depicted some of the greatest stories of M'Baku's culture, stitched in thread that seemed to move before your eyes. The first Great Gorilla leading her people into the safety of the mountains. Hanuman protects two young boys from a hungry crocodile. The Jabari reunified with Wakanda. The last one features M'Baku, standing high above his people holding his weapon, with the spirit of Hanuman standing above him, mouth open in a long roar. It was newer, but it spoke a story that went back further than either of them, or their parents, or their grandparents.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I'm sure you've already had something." M'Baku mentioned offhandedly. It wasn't a jab, more an acknowledgement that he had become so close with the king as to make him predictable.

The pleasantries flow over him like a cool breeze. A reprieve, an absolute that he could depend on. 

T'Challa undoes the veil, allowing the heavy gauzy material to rest on his shoulders. "I want a drink." He's not anywhere near buzzed and if he were to be made comfortable a drink would be best. 

"How are your littles?" He cushions his brusque request with an attempt at some pleasantries. M'Baku's children weren't as 'little' as they had been when T'Challa first met them but Shuri coined the nickname and it's stuck through the years.

He snorts a laugh, as always while he pours a small drink for his guest. "Glory to Hanuman, they're in good health. I suspect you'll see more of my son in the future. He has a rare sort of hunger in him, he wants nothing more than to explore the outside world, see beyond the borders of Wakanda. He's smart, far smarter than I'll ever be, and cunning as a leopard. Future as a war-dog, he imagines." He mentions somewhat offhandedly. 

T’Challa is not surprised. M’Baku’s children took after him in their audacity if nothing else. 

“I wish him luck in his endeavors then. The world needs more people like him.” And less like the man who currently led all of Wakanda. 

He accepts the offered drink and restrains himself from downing it all at once, sipping leisurely. Sometimes when he visited, they would talk for hours, others they might turn their attention to other activities. He’s not sure which it will be today. He’s not in a chatty mood. He thinks back to what M’Baku said before. “You were expecting me?” T’Challa hadn’t called ahead of time, and these meetings weren’t something for public record.

“I thought I’d see you today, yes. Your-“ M’Baku pauses, picking his language much more carefully than he would if he was with anyone else. 

“The king has been acting up recently. He’s becoming increasingly demanding towards the council and focusing on the Jabari.” M’Baku realizes, all at once, that perhaps he did not think that T’Challa would grace him with his presence today. Perhaps M’Baku just wanted him to come, to see him, to talk, to comfort him. He feels quite foolish all of a sudden but he pushes this feeling down and tries not to show it, sitting down behind his desk once again.

T’Challa knew about the council but not N’Jadaka’s movements towards the Jabari. He doesn’t know if he can help. His actions might be misconstrued or make things worse. He stops sipping and downs the rest of his glass wishing M’Baku had kept the bottle open and within reach for him to refill. There was a time he had the power to stop such actions when such actions would have never happened in the first place. M’Baku is more aware than most, the reach and limits he had. “It has been a very long month.” He admits. It’s why he was here for a 3rd time this month. Instead of the usual one or twice.

“I agree.” M’Baku rumbled, stretching in his seat. He’d been going over proposals from the king for whatever it was that Killmonger wanted from him this time for what felt like hours and now it felt like his body was made of rubble. An ache flared at the base of his neck and he groaned, then stopped, remembering he wasn’t alone. 

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To escape, to talk, or is there something else you want from me?” He lays the question there, but he doesn’t really care about the answer. He just wants to manage the consort’s expectations, whatever they may be.

T’Challa plays with the empty cup in his hand. He doesn’t like M’Baku speaking plainly of his motivations or the coy manner the man approached what they usually did when he came by like this during the cover of night and to ‘escape.’

He meets M’Baku’s gaze then trails down. “Yes, I want something else.”

M'Baku couldn't hide the cat-got-the-cream smirk that spilled onto his features at this. While not all of their encounters ended in sex, it was a possibility every time and to hear T'Challa confirm that this was what he wanted was always a confidence booster.

But M'Baku was a cruel man. He would force the words from T'Challa's lips every time, force him to ask for what he wanted in the most explicit way possible. He also wanted, always wanted, T'Challa's consent here. M'Baku wasn't blind or stupid or suicidal, he knew this man was married, and to a very powerful murderous world leader, and while this would never be right or just or good in anyone's eyes, knowing it was what the king-consort needed gave him a small piece of mind that it was okay.

"You get what you want quicker if you ask for it." He mused.

T’Challa sets the cup down. Gets to his feet graceful despite the alcohol. Which wasn’t that strong but considering he’s been steadily imbibing all day… His hands come up to undo the clasp of the dark shroud he wore as a top layer. Revealing bare shoulders and underclothes that covered only enough of him to be decent. This material is cool and silky to touch, easily pushed out of the way for whatever might happen this evening. “I want you to… show me something.” 

He changes what he was going to say at the last minute. Gaze cast to the room around them. They don’t need to leave for T’Challa to get what he wants.

M'Baku raked his eyes over the nearly naked man now standing in his office in what he would later describe to his men as a diplomatic meeting. He managed a chuckle at the other man's words, rising from his chair again and crossing the room. 

"Now now, your highness, hasn't anyone ever taught you the importance of specificity?" He questions, brushing himself up against T'Challa as he passes by him even though this office could easily fit twenty of them. He presses the lock on the door closed, allowing for no interruptions by his guards or anyone else. "No stress, I can find something for you to set those pretty eyes on." He downright purrs at T'Challa. 

He grasps T'Challa's arms and spins him until he's facing away from M'Baku. 

M'Baku leads him to the silk tapestry of himself. How self-centered of him. "I know you've seen this artwork many times. In another life I would have let you have it, display it in your home." He doesn't allow a pause to let T'Challa process that sentence properly. "So, tell me, in all the times you've looked at it, have you ever noticed that you're in it?" 

Looking closer at the painting, the shadows behind the Jabari warriors, cheering for their leader, seemed to move, growing dark purple eyes and a silver ring around its neck. A black panther, a spitting image of him, or what he once was. 

T’Challa hadn’t but once he noticed the panther it’s all he could see. How had he missed it the numerous times he’d looked this tapestry over? He aches to lean back and rest more fully on M’Baku. Wishes he’d opted for the younger man’s bedroom instead of his office. “No. Why?” This was a tapestry for the Jabari, for M’Baku. Why was he included? He’s sure more than a few cursed the fateful day that a fisherman found his body and dragged them all back into Wakanda’s affairs.

"Some of them, I'm told, like you. Myself included. Almost all see you as preferable to the... alternative. Many have seen you fight; they claim your fierce, honorable, that the spirit of Wakanda lives in you. My people heard of you sparing my life when many would have killed me. My people will always be messy and complicated, but even the warrior with the most hatred for Wakanda can see you are a good man." 

Something about the way M’Baku embraces him irritates T’Challa. They were lovers but not like this. He didn’t want tenderness or pity from M’Baku, not now. He pushes the hand reaching lower away. “Sit down—Let me touch you.” He desperately wants control, if not of his life, then this.

M’Baku removes his hands from his partner with no argument, moving away to sit on the lounges. He watched T'Challa with a kind of curiosity, spreading his legs to both ease the strain on his hardening cock within his pants and invite T'Challa forwards, towards him.

T'Challa kneels in between M'Baku's legs and for a moment feels lost, out of depth even. And then the feeling fades and he's undoing the fly of M'Baku's clothes pulling free the part of him that was always happy to see T'Challa and much less demanding about it. T'Challa grips him loosely, placing a kiss on the head. His grip tightens when the kiss ends. He feels better like this, powerful. He spares a look up and is gratified to see only lust and wanting in M'Baku's gaze. Nothing soft or tender or dangerous (more than this already was) good.

M'Baku lets out a growl that doesn't quite sound fully human. "Tease" He hisses through his teeth, his composure breaking for the first time. His fingers flex at his sides, wanting nothing more than to take hold on the man's hair and regain the upper hand. 

But T'Challa was adamant he wanted to have control tonight, so M'Baku would let him have what he wanted. He could always challenge him, turn the tables again later.

He ignores M'Baku's admonishments and sinks into his task with gusto. Enjoying the sounds, he is able to draw, the reaction he elicits with just his mouth and his hands. In that sense this act isn’t for M'Baku but for himself. He runs his tongue underside thick veins and admires the beauty of Lord M'Baku's cock, right before he presses that beauty up against his throat—repeatedly.

M'Baku tries and completely fails to hide the noises that spill forth as T'Challa's skilled tongue works over his cock. He was embarrassed by how quickly he was brought to the edge, less by the actual physical act and more by the knowledge of who was performing such an act. T'Challa, King-consort, former king, who's mouth once addressed the world and its nations and forced them to respect him, was now humbling himself and sucking his cock like it was second nature. It was an illicit, explicit, pleasurable torture. Long minutes pass like this in pleasurable reverie.

"I'm- I-" M'Baku struggled to form words under the consort's ministrations, unable to correctly express to T'Challa how close he was to the edge.

When he senses M’Baku is getting closer he pulls back. Another time he may have wanted the man’s come down his throat. This evening he wants to ride. “Let me ride you.” He demands rather than asks, fingers already reaching for the packet of condoms he bought for just this occasion. Taking advantage of the opportunity of movement to finally take off and discard his pants. 

M’Baku rearranges his body to hold the king-consorts weight more comfortably. 

“Then come here, your highness. Ride me.” He beckons forth, his dick painfully hard and begging to make itself at home in T’Challa.

T’Challa is not a small man, yet next to M’Baku his more slender form gave the appearance of smallness. It used to unnerve him and now in this intimate interaction it’s an extra layer of appeal. That M’Baku might tower over him, that T’Challa would climb into his lap as if he were not also a grown man. 

T’Challa straddles thick legs, gaze locked on the dark, warm mass that had just been in his mouth. He remembers how annoyed he had been in the beginning to discover it was every-bit proportional with the rest of its owner. Now he looks forward to it. Quickly he rips open the condom’s packaging with his teeth, applying the contents languidly. T’Challa rubs the excess lubricant from the condom on his own cock and then around his hole.

He slows down for this part. On another occasion M’Baku might slip his own fingers inside, tease while he ‘stretched’ T’Challa open. T’Challa doesn’t let him tonight, pushing the other man’s hands away. “Hold still.” He instructs, he wants to ‘sit’ on the man’s cock but couldn’t do so gracefully unless M’Baku held it for him.

The Jabari lord groaned and muttered something under his breath but reluctantly agreed, moving his hands to hold himself in the prime position to be used as a throne and attempting to still his fluttering hips which betrayed his wanting with every touch of T’Challa’s stupidly skilled hands. 

“Hurry up, T’Challa!” He hissed, desperate enough to actually ask for what he wanted but not quite enough to beg yet.

T'Challa grins and takes a seat. As usual the initial penetration is uncomfortable, even a bit painful. But it fades as he settles and the usual pleasure starts to flow through him. This is what he's been wanting. Below him M'Baku groans and his hands come up to grip T'Challa more tightly.

“You take me so well.” M’Baku murmurs in an attempt to form any coherent noise that wasn’t a groan or moan of appreciation. His idea of letting T’Challa take control goes out the window when T’Challa doesn’t start moving fast enough and the Jabari lord quickly turns impatient. He begins to bounce the king-consort on top of him, enjoying the friction of the movement and the noises the smaller man makes.

T'Challa allows M'Baku to take control after that. In the heat of sex and with the alternative being T'Challa taking his sweet time and adding to frustration—there is little tenderness. M'Baku fucks him roughly and T'Challa prefers it that way.

_

_

_

After, they sit quiet in the afterglow and the mess he's created. He should have used a condom as well, there's a trail of come in the space between then and all over his hand. M'Baku digs out a towel with a quip that T'Challa ignores to clean himself. M'Baku is soft now and has yet to pull out. The sensation isn't bad. T'Challa considers leaving (once he's clean) and discards the idea. He could stay the night—as long as he left very early in the morning. M'Baku never told him no, the times he asked. 

"I don't think this towel will be enough. I need a shower." After which he would make himself comfortable in M'Baku's bed. This was just his roundabout way of asking.

M’Baku let out a somewhere between a groan and purr at the thought of either of them moving, permanently uncoupling. T’Challa was far too comfortable for his own good. Still, he agrees, jumping at any opportunity to keep the king-consort within his reach, reacting first with a nod and then a moment later audibly. 

“Of course, go ahead, make yourself at home.” He gestured broadly in the direction of his bedroom and the connecting bathroom. “Unless you’d like me to carry you?” M’Baku mused, using a jovial tone to make it seem like a show of strength and not a deep need within the chief to look after his partners every whim.

If they separated, they would make even more of a mess. T'Challa plays along. "If I'm not too heavy—"

M'Baku doesn't allow him to finish his sentence and he grips M'Baku tighter so as not to fall. It's unlikely with the hold he's in, but his brain is struggling more than usual tonight to think logically.

M’Baku moves his own arms to stabilize T’Challa more easily as he moves the two of them between rooms, lifting T’Challa as if he weighed nothing at all. He murmurs small words of encouragement in the smaller man’s ears, mutters of I won’t drop you meant to do little more than fill silence and reassure what T’Challa already knew. He reaches the bathroom and heads for the shower, bracing T’Challa against the wall while he reaches across to turn it on. 

“Can you stand?” He asks, raking his eyes down T’Challa’s lower half, still wrapped around him. He allows himself to be selfish for a moment and believes that the great gorilla could steal a man’s ability to walk properly, least of all T’Challa.

He could. Despite the alcohol and their previous activities. T'Challa nods, placing a hand on M'Baku's chest. A nonverbal request to be let down. M'Baku acquiesced and the two separate. T'Challa doesn't like the difference, M'Baku had been warm and solid. Without the contact he's left to focus on his wavering senses and is more aware of how bare he was (without his top cloak for cover) "Thank you." He mumbled the nicety as an afterthought already walking towards the bathrooms large shower. He strips his remaining clothes as he goes.

M'Baku's rooms overlook a private garden shared by the compound his house was located in. The view through large slightly open windows is beautiful in the sunset light, T'Challa takes a few seconds to admire it (and appreciate the difference from his views in the king's wing) before shutting the window firmly. This has been going on for a while now and he trusts M'Baku's people to keep it quiet but he won't tempt fate. After he presses on the water, He turns back in time to catch M'Baku watching him. 

T'Challa had assumed perhaps incorrectly he would be joining. "You don't want to bathe?"

“I was merely awaiting your invitation.” He tells the smaller man. A second half of that sentence catches itself on his tongue, I didn’t know if you’d want me too and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable , but he swallows it back and hides it within himself. He tells himself that it’s too doting for their dynamic, that T’Challa wouldn’t want to hear it, perhaps because it’s easier for him to believe that than to come to terms with his inability to voice these things properly.

M’Baku is quick, after that moment, to enter the shower with T’Challa. He makes sure the water douses him all over before focusing attention on the mess smeared all over his stomach, hips and as far up as his pecs. If T’Challa were a normal man M’Baku would medically question the amount of cum the smaller man produces every time they have sex, but as it is, he just calls it a blessing of Bast and questions no further. Part of his attention is kept on T'Challa's actions at all times as he moves around him.

The buzz from their recent activities is starting to fade and T’Challa starts to remember how tired he is–and why. He’s reminded also of his earlier thoughts on maybe taking some kef, it’s very difficult to resist the temptation but he does. M’Baku’s presence serving as a handy deterrent. The Jabari has already started making odd comments about his alcohol intake he doesn’t want any more scrutiny. 

Once he’s washed himself off completely, he steps out of the shower, wraps himself in a towel and waits impatiently for M’Baku to do the same. He’s not going back to the king’s wing tonight and despite his disdain for anything that might be ‘tender’ and ‘too involved’ happening between them (he tells himself sex is different) –he’s looking forward to sharing a bed with someone he actually likes.

M’Baku can feel T’Challa’s eyes on him the entire rest of his shower, and purposefully takes longer to finish than is needed. The panther tribe aren’t known for the virtue of patience and M’Baku has debated trying to teach it to the king-consort multiple times. He eventually settled on using it to toy with the man, seeing how impatient he would get before complaining. 

But when T’Challa’s glare grows hot on his skin and he can tell a scathing hiss is on the smaller man’s tongue, he relents, turns off the water and steps out, grabbing his own towel on the way, drying himself. 

“Would you like some clothes to sleep in?” He asks, yes, but more confirming that T’Challa is indeed sleeping with him. 

M’Baku is too smug for T’Challa’s liking. “No. I’m fine.” The bed sheets and M’Baku’s body heat would be more than enough. “Are you finished?” He asks just to make sure. He wants to be in bed.

M'Baku lets out a bark of laughter and runs the back of his hand over T'Challa's hair, the way you would affectionate with a particularly miffed cat. 

"Yes, I'm done. Come on." He leads T'Challa into his bedroom and discards his towel. Rather than spread out in bed like he usually does, he curls up on one side and gives T'Challa the rest of the space. The king-consort has the lion’s share of the space, he wouldn't even have to touch M'Baku if he didn't want to.

T'Challa settles in the middle of the bed but doesn't close his eyes. He's tired of course, but his mind can't settle. It had been much more 'settled' when they were fucking... and if he didn't have an early morning engagement the next day, he might try his luck again. 

"Why did you have children?" He asks M'Baku after minutes of companionable silence.

M'Baku hums, eyes closed as he thinks the question over, before answering.

"Many reasons. I always knew one day I would have to have children, either genetically or by adoption, to continue the tradition of the great gorilla, so I was never averse to the idea. Then, when I found a woman I liked, It seemed like a logical next step to take after a while. We never actively sought out to have a child, we just stopped trying to prevent it and let Hanuman bless us in any way he saw fit." He paused. "When I first found out my wife was pregnant, I completely panicked. I was certain that I wasn't ready, that I wouldn't be a good father, that I would make mistakes like my father before me." M'Baku didn't speak much on his father, and many of the other Jabari followed suit. There was a story there, but it was hidden deep within a normally secretive man. "It was one of the better decisions I've made."

T’Challa had taken for granted the belief that he would eventually become king. Eventually marry Nakia… eventually have children. Forgone conclusions in his mind at 20… 25… only starting to grow shaky when he hit 30 and he and Nakia were looking more and more unlikely. Then at 36 his cousin’s appearance. At 38 the snap… and then back. A moment for him… 5 years for those left behind. 

“I’ve always wanted children.” With someone he loved, someone who would be fit to be Wakanda’s queen mother. He never expected to someday be in that role himself as king consort instead of king. Never expected to be faced with the choice of building a family with someone he didn’t love and couldn’t stand on a good day. 

"I know I wouldn't be a good father." Not as he was now anyway, not while tied to who he was. A tie he could break at any time in theory. But much more difficult to do in reality.

There was silence, then M'Baku spoke again. 

"I respectfully disagree. There are things you would have to change, perhaps work on, yes, but those things do not bar you from being a good parent. Quite the opposite, a man who thinks he is perfect and entitled to a child will be the worst father on earth, but a man who questions if he is ever good enough for his children will always, always, make sure they are taken care of." He said, his words of wisdom laden in a tired-yet-attentive tone. 

"I believe you would be a good father." He mentions as if it was an afterthought, though he means it no less.

T’Challa turns on his side so his back is to M’Baku. “You’re very optimistic for someone who knows what tends to happen in the king’s wing.” Any children he has would be expected to live there… be raised there. Claimed by their king father at the very least. 

Then he changes the subject. “I will be leaving the country for a few weeks. I can’t avoid it… I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do.” The alternative is letting N’Jadaka deal with it and that—was too bloody for T’Challa to bear. This topic is safer than children. T'Challa doesn't know why he even brought it up in the first place. He was at the age to be thinking about children, having them maybe—Wakandans lived long lives—but they both knew his situation and who he would be expected to have them with.

"Oh?" The sudden change in topic leaves something unspoken between the two of them, which M'Baku hates but understands. It's a precarious position they're in. It didn’t change the fact that if T'Challa asked, M'Baku would get him pregnant without so much as a second thought. Hell, M'Baku would be willing to get pregnant himself if it meant it could grant them a child, they both desired, no matter the questions Wakanda would ask of him because of it. But that wasn’t something he felt T'challa wanted to hear right now.

“Where are you going? Will you be safe?" He allows his overbearing instincts to burst forth for a minute, to simply worry about his bed-mate.

“Of course, I’ll be safe—” T’Challa avoids the question of ‘where.’ Given enough time M’Baku might come to an accurate conclusion. The current campaign missions are confidential for obvious security reasons but a council member knew more than the average Wakandan. “It’s just diplomacy.” The only reason N’Jadaka had married him in the first place. Where death and carnage failed, diplomacy was employed in the form of T’Challa playing good cop to N’Jadaka’s bad. He could be a hero, a ‘cool head’ and an alternative. As if he were separate from Wakanda’s larger apparatus, as if every gift didn’t come with caveats and expectations. 

T’Challa shifts a bit trying to get more comfortable, naked against the sheets and a little cold he leans into M’Baku’s body heat. “Help me get warm, please.” He didn’t want to put on clothes he would have to remove in the morning and all M’Baku would have to do is put an arm around him or something and he would grow warmer soon after. They've done this interaction before, a part of T'Challa resents having to ask. The rest understands it's part of the exchange. This comfort and support for his explicit requesting.

M'Baku nearly purrs at the request. "Of course." He reaches towards him, banding his arm across T’Challa’s waist and brings the smaller man closer to his chest, enveloping him in the warmth that seemed to burn off of him. From this position T'Challa could likely hear M'Baku heartbeat, slow and calming.

"Is this more comfortable for you?" He asked, already half-sure of the answer.

T'Challa hums out a 'yes.' In an hour or two, it will be too hot, he will have to push M'Baku away. Right now, however it feels perfect.

"Good. Now sleep, you'll be busy in the morning." He murmured, halfway to sleep himself. He tries to savor this moment, he knows that the king likely won't be there when he awakens the next day, so he takes small kindness in T'Challa being there with him now. He enjoys his scent, freshly washed and yet still smelling slightly of M'Baku himself. It was a small luxury, but something else that would have to go before T'Challa left tomorrow morning. No doubt Eric would smell it on him too and raze the earth and salt it. M'Baku bids himself to stop thinking and just be there, enjoy the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M'Baku is in a happy poly arrangement with his wife. The infidelity tag refers to T'Challa.

T’Challa has only been back in Wakanda for two days but he already wants to leave. It’s a strange depressingly recurring feeling these days (months… years?) Wakanda changed so much during the snap. It may have been a gradual and perhaps acceptable change for the Wakandans who lived through it; for him it was just one more reason to feel out of place in his own home. This week is a festival week, in times past (before the snap) It was followed with brevity and heavy contemplation. This year and the ones preceding it’s just an excuse to party and celebrate for most. Which means there are at least 10 more ‘official’ gatherings than he would like where his presence and interaction is expected. N’Jadaka being the “practical” man he is, has them both attending different celebrations. T’Challa is glad for the separation–he’s just not feeling festive. 

There were also his personal issues which he didn’t normally acknowledge but made this sort of thing too much trouble for him. He drank enough on a normal day; he didn’t need an excuse. Let alone more opportunities to imbibe the other ‘helpers’ he’s growing accustomed to. Lucky for him (or unlucky) he’s not alone at the current gathering. Okoye is accompanying him instead of the usual 2nd form (no longer 1st form–they went with N’Jadaka now) Dora. Their quiet back and forth in between the required socializing is a small burst of normalcy.

Okoye had kept the conversation light on purpose, giving T'Challa a break from the depressing concoction of thoughts brewing within him and instead redirecting his attention onto more pleasant things. How was Shuri? Ramonda? She had asked a few questions of M’Baku but left them open ended so as to not put the king on the spot about what was forming between the two of them. She knew, Okoye always knew, but she also knew that it wasn't any of her business and right now what she didn't say was as valuable as what she did.

She watched T'Challa drink with a quiet sort of worry. She had been meaning to talk to the king-consort for a long time about his use of alcohol and other crutches that would no doubt be the death of him if he let them continue to run rampant in his body like that. She dreaded the night he wouldn't wake up one morning, a mixture of alcohol and illicit chemicals burn him from the inside out. Part of her had wanted to confront him for months, still wanted to confront him now, but the other part stopped her, pulled her back, whispered in her ear that he was suffering, that he grieved for a world he fit into and not everyone had had the arguably good experience she had. Sure, her husband had disappeared into dust but she still had family, friends and a community that rallied around her, comforted her, and allowed her to bounce back and continue her important work. She had survived, and in every meaning of the word T'Challa hadn't.

"How are you feeling?" She asked an open question that gave T'Challa room to answer as he wished as they moved into a more secluded area where they were less likely to be interrupted.

The question is innocent but T'Challa's guard immediately goes up. "I'm well. It was good to be away for a bit. I appreciate Wakanda more for it."

“Oh, is that so? I’m glad to hear you’re more content. I have to admit I haven’t been keeping as much of an eye on the outside world as I had been before, you make it sound like things aren’t okay out there?” She talks, trying to comfort him into dropping his walls again. She had known this man her whole life, used to be able to talk about anything with him, read him like an open book, but this wasn’t the same version of him.

T'Challa fights a bitter laugh. "It's better than it was before. That's perhaps what's most ironic. It's better than before. Despite... everything." T'Challa doesn't want to get sucked into the politics of his loaded statement so he diverges quickly. "How are you? We haven't seen each other much recently. Have you read anything for pleasure recently?" The Okoye he knew was an avid reader.

Okoye doesn't miss the obvious redirect, and on another night, she might pull him back, ask for an explanation but now, she doesn't, she lets him get away with it. "Less and less, it seems. Work tires me." She doesn't dwell on that fact, she tries not to complain about her situation to T'Challa, thinking he wouldn't want to hear it. "I've been working through an autobiography recently, 'The Happiest Refugee.' It's good, equally funny, and thought-provoking. What about you, have you dedicated time to anything other than work recently?" She asks with the outward appearance of a light-hearted jab but serious worry concealed within.

T'Challa takes note of the name and Okoye's admittance to also being weary. She has endured more than him in terms of time. Having lived through the snap and the five years of change. "I've been spending time with friends." M'Baku amongst them but more often just palace attendants and the occasional longtime friend.

"Good, I'm glad to hear that. I'd hate to think you were going through anything alone. It's unfortunate that we cannot see each other more often. I want to be there for you too." She expresses, then backs off a little, hoping she hasn’t overstepped some new boundary.

They're dancing around something here and it makes T'Challa feel just a bit ashamed. "I may not be happy with certain things, but I'm hardly suffering Okoye. I hope you don't think anything is truly amiss?" He would happily lie about his current mental and physical state if it would help her feel less guilty or worried. What was done was done.

"T'Challa, I always worry about you. It's my job, not to mention your mother would kill me if anything happened to you or Shuri." She half-jokes with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, before swallowing and turning completely serious. "But recently I've been hearing things from the other Dora, and some of them scare me. They tell me that you're drinking every day. Some even speak of drugs. I don't know if it's true, part of me doesn't want to believe it but-" She pauses, looking him dead in the eye. "T'Challa, what are you doing to yourself?"

When she said it like that... "It's not that bad." A little drink between meetings didn't change much and he was cutting back on his intake. (Or rather trying to)

"But it's still bad, right? Talk to me, T'Challa, I want to help you. I don't want to see you hurt; I don't want to see you-" She cut herself off as she felt a knot form in her throat. Okoye took a deep breath, swallowing. "T'Challa, I watched you disappear once. I saw you die; I can't see that again. Please, let me help you."

"I'm not okay but there's not really much anyone can do." He's had to make the best of his situation. A little stimulants and alcohol wasn't such a horrible thing.

They don’t talk anymore at that party.

-:-

T’Challa can’t fucking breathe. He wants to smash everything around him, he wants to scream, wants to do all the things he didn’t do when N’Jadaka called him this morning. If he knew what the meeting would be about, he wouldn’t have gone. He paces the length of his bedroom and curses whoever told his husband anything in the first place. He didn’t have a ‘problem’ and taking away his most reliable way of coping didn’t help him. It just made him more—he breathes in—unstable. He has to attend several meetings tomorrow and there is absolutely no alcohol and no Kef in his possession. Because someone had gone through all his things. The more he thinks about what’s happened the angrier he gets and since he doesn’t want to think he makes plans to leave. Cancelling as many meetings as he can while he’s at it. If N’Jadaka and whoever else wanted to make him even more miserable he would just leave. At least till he could find a new supplier.

He’s less concerned with secrecy when he leaves, (a part of him wonders if N’Jadaka or whoever went through his things didn’t already suspect). N’Jadaka must have some lovers, T’Challa’s never paid enough attention to pinpoint who. Enough young and pretty Wakandans threw themselves at the both of them when they were in public settings. Going to M’Baku probably isn’t the smartest thing to do at a time like this but he doesn’t know what else to do. Besides steam in anger and make himself feel worse at the unfairness. M’Baku is busy when he arrives (or so his men tell T’Challa) so T’Challa makes himself comfortable in the man’s bedroom and tries to calm down. M’Baku would have alcohol and T’Challa would drink some once the man arrived and figure out how to get around this new ‘ban.’

M’Baku has been informed of T’Challa’s arrival the moment he entered the building, but from the way his second was talking, it didn’t seem like this would be a happy visit. T’Challa had been agitated, borderline aggressive, and then the Jabari Lord was informed that the King-Consort had made himself quite comfortable in his bedroom. great he thought of course he did he cursed under his breath; this didn’t seem like a problem he could fuck away. 

He finished his work slowly, distracted by the thoughts of the man in his room, then he gave up and made his way back to him. 

The anger hit him in a wave the moment he entered the room. If anger was tangible, they wouldn’t fit in the room. He sighs, running a hand over his face. 

“What happened? Talk to me.”

M’Baku’s arrival disturbs T’Challa from his snooping. He turns to face M’Baku and remembers the etiquette of suddenly appearing in the man’s private rooms with no warning or prior invitation. Then he pushes it aside–M’Baku liked him here. 

“Someone has been telling stories.” It’s more than that of course. Stories weren’t enough for N’Jadaka to go through his things and treat him like some misbehaving child. He had to have seen something that or he really just wanted to torment T’Challa. 

“Please tell me you have wine.”

“I don’t, we’re out.” He lies through his teeth and knows T’Challa will immediately call him out but he doesn’t care. T’Challa health is more important to him.

He changes the subject almost immediately. “T’Challa” he says more sternly, almost dominating. “What happened? Do they know about us?” He asked, his mind already running a thousand miles a minute. If the king knew about them it would have consequences for himself and the Jabari as a whole.

“You’re lying. Why are you lying?” Since when did he not have alcohol? 

“No. He doesn’t know. Someone has been telling stories about me. Nothing to do with you.” He looks around the room again. He needs to order alcohol if M’Baku is going to lie. That or leave. “No one besides… your men know.” Some Dora certainly knew, but that was different.

“That’s a relief. Now-“ M’Baku takes a few slow steps towards T’Challa, locking eyes and trying to find the cause of his grief. He wasn’t getting alcohol, or addressing the lying, he was trying to have an actual conversation. “Please, tell me what happened to you. Why are you acting like this?”

"He had people look through my things. He told me I can't drink anymore! As if I'm a child." T'Challa doesn't mention his confiscating the drugs, more focused on the infringement on his privacy and the ridiculous demand. "Which is how I know someone has been telling stories. He wouldn't do this otherwise."

“Perhaps they weren’t trying to hurt you, perhaps they’re just worried about you.”

"He is not trying to help me. He is trying to humiliate me. Making me out to be some sort of... alcoholic. I drink as much as anyone else. It's not some addiction." N'Jadaka took too much glee in lording over T'Challa for him to see this as anything other than an attack. The sort to set people's tongues wagging. Then he homes in on M'Baku's wording. “Who is ‘worried’?”

“You aren’t exactly hiding these things particularly well. Everyone has noted your alcohol use. The council, your family, your people.” He still calls them T’Challa’s people even if they aren’t, technically. “Me.” He says, somewhat quieter. His voice dropped to an octave barely audible. “I’m so worried about you.” He shakes his head and raises himself up to his full height. “Did you come here for an argument, T’Challa. Is that all I am to you? A punching bag for your repressed emotions?”

"I came here for some sanity but if you're just going to accuse me of something I'm not, I’ll see myself out." T'Challa's tone is icy. M'Baku was making things about himself. T'Challa was the one being accused of alcoholism. T'Challa came to M'Baku for reprieve the man never complained about how T'Challa chose to vent before.

“Don’t you dare.” The Jabari lord sounded downright dangerous voice thick with a growl. He was sick of the smaller man’s shit, yowling and yelling like this was his house to tear up. Who was he to yell and stamp his foot at the lord in his own bedroom?

“You’re not leaving here tonight. You want to talk, go on, talk.” It sounded more like a date then any sort of request.

"I think you've forgotten yourself M'Baku. You can't command me to do anything." This is what he got for being over familiar with someone he shouldn't have.

“You’re right, I can’t, but I also can’t just sit back and watch you tear yourself to shreds with alcohol and drugs. I know you’ll never realize it, but I care about you, not that you care about what I think. I’m just a source of sex to you, aren’t I? Use me and leave. Never mind, Go on, get out of here.” He dared again, almost forcing the words out of his throat no matter how much it hurt to say them. He’d grown close, denying it the whole time but he had. Now it didn’t matter, it would be over now, T’Challa would abandon him.

T'Challa doesn't like being told to leave, even if he'd been first to threaten to leave. "Don't make yourself into some sort of victim. It wasn't some hardship to sleep with me." He hadn't lied about what he was seeking and it hadn't been some 'deep emotional connection.' T'Challa wanted sex, M'Baku gave it to him. It didn't mean he didn't care, it just meant there were boundaries between them. That M'Baku should know better than to cross.

“Oh, is that why you came here? To get fucked so that you could forget your problems? And now you’re mad I’m not pliant below you? I haven’t rolled over and shown my cock yet?” He hissed.

T'Challa is momentarily caught by the anger in M'Baku's voice. In another situation it would be terrifying in the moment it goes straight to his cock. He backtracks, "It's not like that." Or at least not the impersonal way M'Baku put it. T'Challa only came here because he knew M'Baku wouldn't judge him. That the company would be pleasing and that sometimes they fucked. (Not always) T'Challa wasn't 'using' M'Baku any more than the man was using him.

"I don't have a problem. I've just had some bad months. What N'Jadaka did is a total overreaction. I thought you would understand."

“And I agree with you T’Challa, but you don’t need to take it out on other people, especially not the ones who are on your side.” He mutters, the anger still in his voice and his eyes and his demeanor overall. He stalks up to T’Challa until he’s looking down at him, a hair’s breadth away from him. There’s an offer there, but it’s angry.

"Do you really not have any wine?" T'Challa hasn't forgotten his earlier lie. He doesn't pull away though, allowing M'Baku to tower over him.

“Really? That is all that you’re thinking of? Disgraceful!” M’Baku thunders, picking T’Challa up as if he weighed nothing at all and flinging him onto the bed like a rag doll. As if a switch was flicked in his head, dominance flared over him. He was going to take care of T’Challa, whether he likes it or not. 

“I’ll make you forget about wine. I’ll make you forget about everything that isn’t my name or my cock.” He promised. “ That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be fucked full?”

T'Challa isn't expecting M'Baku to pick him up let alone fling him. He tumbles on the bed in a totally undignified manner. In time to hear what M'Baku says last. M'Baku sounds angry but apparently, he still wanted to fuck T'Challa anyway. He's not sure whether or not to be happy about it. Instinct has him pulling back further on the bed from M'Baku's prowling approach. He's never fucked M'Baku when he was this angry. 

"Can you manage that? It's fine if you can't." Why is T’Challa still talking?

"Don't worry about whether I can manage it. Worry about whether you can take it, kitten." M'Baku wasn't one for a lot of pet names, but that felt sort of right. He watched the King-consort curl away from him and a smile formed that was almost malicious. He wanted to break this man into pieces and then help put him back together. If this man was going to yell his head off, he might as well yell something M'Baku wants to hear, like his name or perhaps a plea for more.

The pet name coming from M'Baku sounds malicious. T'Challa refuses to be cowed even if he's suddenly much more aware of where he is and who would answer if things went sideways. For all his bluster he is at M'Baku's mercy (just a bit). It doesn't harsh his arousal, however. An angry fuck was still a fuck. 

M'Baku's pulls him firmly away from the edge of the bed and T'Challa doesn't fight it, heart pounding with a new lust filled adrenaline. All this talk when they could be doing something more fun.

"You're still wearing clothes." M'Baku growls, glaring as if the cloth has offended him personally. "Get rid of them." He orders, but T'Challa isn't fast enough and M'Baku decides to do it himself, shedding the clothes with a hunger that stirs within him, which nothing but T'Challa will quench. He doesn't rip any of the fabric, small mercies, but he wants too. He's bitter tonight, barely controlling his own actions. 

When the king-consort is deliciously naked and spread out on his back, M'Baku dives his head towards his hips, sinking his teeth into the muscled flesh of his thigh. He won't draw blood but he wants bitemarks and bruises. He wants this to sting. He wants this to hurt

T'Challa hisses in pain when M'Baku bites him, pulling away immediately and getting nowhere due to the grip on his thigh. He presses a hand M'Baku's cheek, trying to push his mouth (and teeth) away. "Stop that!"

M'Baku growls down-right animalistically, rewarding that act of rebellion with a harder bite to his opposite thigh. He catches T'Challa's wrist and pins it down into the bed. 

"What makes you think you're in a position to give orders right now?" He wants to draw this out and nobody is going to stop him. He hasn't even gotten undressed yet, as his hardening cock is making maddeningly obvious from its place in the tight confines of his pants. "You'll be lucky if I give you a single thing you want tonight." He muses, then runs the tip of his tongue along the newer bite on his thigh, mingling the two pains together. He's not focusing on the smaller man's dick yet, but he's got all night and he intends to use it.

T'Challa notices how M'Baku has made no move to undress despite insisting T'Challa remove his clothes and something like fear runs through him. M'Baku bites him again further up his thigh and tantalizingly close to T'Challa's groin. He tries to be patient. "You said you would fuck me—not tease."

"I'll do whatever I wish when you're pliant beneath me." It's a threat delivered with the cadence of a mere afterthought. "It's about time someone taught you humility. You come into my house, into my room, and start screaming your head off and expect to get what you want? No, I'll see to it that you're punished." With that, he licks a stripe up T'Challa's cock, thick and betraying his lust. He bands an arm over the man's waist in an attempt to hold him down and within his reach as he lavishes attention around T'Challa's crowning glory.

T'Challa hadn't screamed and he doesn't like the idea of anyone let alone M'Baku teaching him 'humility.' He's poised to argue when M'Baku licks his cock. As far as distractions went, this one was very good. He lets the argument go.

M'Baku huffs a laugh at T'Challa's lack of response, a sound that goes straight to the other man's dick. He takes a few more strategic swipes of his tongue over the slit before squaring his shoulder and taking the entirety of T'Challa's cock into his mouth. He's not as good at this as T'Challa, not as smooth and fluent but he hollows his cheeks and sucks like his life depends on it. He works hard with T'Challa, like he does with all things, to get him close to the edge so he can take it away from him.

T'Challa tries and fails to rock deeper into M'Baku's mouth. The sensations are wonderful but not enough, and soon turn frustrating. The lack of control especially with his dominant hand pinned reminds him M'Baku would decide how and when things happen tonight. 

When it starts to get too much, he tries to distract M'Baku. "Your pants must be tight—why don't you let me take it off?—" so T'Challa could touch himself without his hand immediately being smacked away.

"Now why would I do that?" M'Baku asks, toying with him, not because he's against the idea of finally having his damned pants off but because he wants to be convinced. He wants to hear the man ask for what he wants. 

Actually, what he wants is for T'Challa to beg, but he's convinced he'll get him there eventually.

Because it would be more comfortable? Because T'Challa asked nicely? "Because I want you to—" M'Baku surprises a moan out of him at the end of his plea.

M’Baku has to pull off again so he can laugh without suffocating himself or biting down on T’Challa’s dick. The vibrations still tingle down the entirety of the smaller man’s lower half. He relinquishes control of T’Challa’s wrist but there is a message that he had the upper hand and would enforce that at any moment.

“That’s no answer, but perhaps you’re right.” He admits through the laughter.

T'Challa immediately reaches down to touch himself once M'Baku releases his hand. He gets only 2 or three strokes before he's being yanked forward. Usually M'Baku doesn't manhandle him like this at least not without some forewarning and finds he doesn't mind it too much. It adds to the feeling of being small and weaker—something M'Baku was very good at making him feel when he wanted to. "what...?" He can't keep the whine out of his voice. He wasn't going to come just yet he just wanted to touch himself.

“What?” M’Baku mocks the whining tone of his partner. “You’re just insatiable tonight, aren’t you? I can’t take my eyes off you for a second, can I? Do I need to tie you down, will that keep you from enraging me further?” It was a question, and perhaps a request for permission. They both knew M’Baku kept rope under his bed, but he’d never been tempted to use it before. Now there was little reason for him not too.

T'Challa shakes his head. "No! There's no need. M'Baku please just—" He trails of after catching sight of the taller man's now half undone pants. "Just fuck me." It couldn't be comfortable being that hard. T'Challa doesn't want to play games. He scans the vicinity for where the lube normally was, impatient.

"I could..." M'Baku muses, pretending to think about it. Then he bends down, levelling his face with T'Challa's neck. Clean and unbitten. Upsetting. Fixable "Or I could keep you like this forever, stuck on the edge and unable to bring yourself off. I could do this for hours, Kitten, until you finally break and cum. Then I'll fuck you, hard and raw and fast, until you can't move or breathe or think properly and the only thing on your lips will be my name. Would that please you, or would you still think of me as your enemy?" The last line was practically spat, T'Challa's earlier words hurt M'Baku and he was bitter because of it. He bit T'Challa's neck above his collarbone, delighting in the other man's hiss.

M'Baku still sounds angry. His last sentence carries the edge from earlier and it makes T'Challa uncomfortable. There's nowhere to run and being naked (when M'Baku wasn't, pressed up against him murmuring filth about breaking him) made him feel even more vulnerable. "I'm sorry." He doesn't understand just what it was about he said upset M'Baku so much but something tells him to apologies anyway. "Let me touch you please?" His left hand is hovering at M'Baku's side, itching to undress him.

He tries to add more honey, less demand into his voice. M'Baku loved his mouth, and that was a fast way to appease him into fucking T'Challa properly.

"I don't believe you." The Jabari lord called bullshit almost immediately on T'Challa's apology, believing insincerity. However, a small voice inside of him told him to stop, give the poor man relief, this isn't fair Against his better judgement, he listened to it, just this once. 

"But fine then, if you're so insistent." He relinquished, sitting up slightly, and dropping his arms to his sides. He would allow T'Challa to undress him but he wouldn't help him. The King-consort would have to work for it.

T'Challa grins bright, crawling closer to M'Baku. The Jabari man looked so grumpy this evening; it would be hotter if he weren't being so contrary. T'Challa was supposed to be the grumpy one, not M'Baku. Undoing his top layers isn't easy especially with M'Baku refusing to help but T'Challa manages. His pants are a different story and T'Challa doesn't feel like moving once he undoes M'Baku's fly, to let the man's cock free. Admiring turns to touching and—

"That's enough." M'Baku barks sternly when he feels a familiar warmth in his gut. He pulls his cock free of T'Challa grasp and goes about manhandling T'Challa's body to his own pleasures. He hitches T'Challa's legs up and presses them against his chest as he reaches across the room for the lube they keep nearby, coating his dick, fingers and T'Challa's eager hole.

"Are you ready, or do you need my fingers first?" A genuine question, but both will end in much the same way for T'Challa, a drawn-out pleasure.

"I'm ready." T'Challa bites out instead of 'hurry up' or something more embarrassing and adjacent to outright begging. M'Baku's body descends closer blanketing T'Challa a bit but the tip of his cock doesn't penetrate. Teasing T'Challa with its presence as if waiting for something. T'Challa squirms half-heartedly, growing frustrated by the second.

M’Baku watches him get more frustrated with a sort of morbid glee. He sees the fight going on in the smaller man’s head between asking for what he wants and trying not to demean himself and beg. 

“It’s cute that you think you’re above begging. Really, it’s adorable, but your body betrays you T’Challa. It knows what it wants. It bucks and grinds and betrays how much of a slut you are.” He mutters. Part of him wants to hear the king-consorts shocked reaction, but the rest doesn’t want the earful, so he lifts the other man’s hips and none-too-carefully slides into his waiting hole, filling him slowly but with no small degree of savagery. He doesn’t move, yet, but he will.

Gods, he will.

It's only after M'Baku is pressing inside him T'Challa remembers what's missing. In his hurry he hadn't remembered contraceptive. He can feel the difference now as his body stretches to accommodate M'Baku. He has no rebuttal for M'Baku's earlier statement. He hated begging and M'Baku was finally giving him what he wanted.

Once M'Baku is fully seated within T'Challa, he grabs T'Challa's legs again and pulls them forwards until T'Challa is practically folded in on himself. He then threads his arms under T'Challa's knees to keep him pinned like that. With his new position, the king-consort is spread wide and M'Baku feels as if he is buried far deeper within him than he really is. He lets out a groan of appreciation at T'Challa's flexibility and takes another bite at his neck.

T'Challa moans irritated, this is not how they usually fucked and the position leaves him feeling vulnerable and submissive. He can't move. M'Baku has him pinned firmly, the most he can manage is weak squirming. Which does nothing to prompt M'Baku to move. After the initial penetration, M'Baku takes his time allowing T'Challa's walls to flex around him. When the moment stretches on even longer T'Challa moves his hand to press against M'Baku's shoulder. A silent plea to move—do something. When that doesn't get the desired effect, he struggles more insistently. No more pretenses, no more hubris, no more bluster. This is what he wanted isn't it? For M'Baku to fuck him—yet somehow this feels different. Too personal, too intimate. The way you would fuck your favorite lover maybe—when trying for a child not... Whatever they were now. T'Challa can't stand this, it's more than he wanted but he's too stubborn to tell M'Baku to stop and change the position. "Please move."

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you, and I'm unprotected." He chuckles darkly at the way the smaller man trapped below him freezes at this. "Did you think I didn't notice? Or perhaps you thought I didn't care. Maybe you didn't, you wanted for me to get you pregnant." He begins a slow series of thrusts, shallow and hard. "You'd look gorgeous pregnant with my child, chest swelled, but you'd be insufferable." He mutters under his breath although he knows the other man can hear him.

The casual talk of pregnancy makes his heart race. Always a possibility but fixable—he could take something in the morning. Pretend M'Baku hadn't been in places he shouldn't. "No. Don't say such things." His forgetfulness was simply forgetfulness not some deeper desire.

If any curious spirit was listening, he hopes they don't honor M'Baku's dangerous words. He has enough trouble. 

His breath catches in his throat once M'Baku finally begins to move. It's not much yet their current position has him reaching with both hands to circle M'Baku's neck.

He blames it on the force. M'Baku is not being careful tonight and the difference rocks his entire body.

"I'll say what I want, I'm the one with the power right now." He reasons, pulling all the way out and then slamming in with the full force of his dexterous hips. He starts a series of rougher thrusts, growling like a caged animal finally lead free. The world seems to shake around them, or perhaps just the bedframe, as he gets harder and harder with the king-consort.

The sound T'Challa makes that first terrible full thrust isn’t too far off from the yelp a cat might when injured. He muffles any further sound into M'Baku's shoulder. He can't control the speed or tempo, pain and pleasure meld together leaving him to just take it.

"Is this too rough for you, kitten?" M'Baku asks this but does not stop for even a second. That was the point of this, it was meant to be rough, torturous, punishing for the smaller man. Instead he huffs, trying to control his own noises and fuck with everything the gods gave him.

T'Challa is breathing hard when he pulls away from M'Baku's shoulder and a trail of drool follows. He wants badly to retort with something sharp, make M'Baku even more angry but the current pace does hurt and is definitely too rough. He hadn't realized how much M'Baku held back with him. He shakes his head, momentarily distracted by a change in angle that has M'Baku pressed more firmly on his most sensitive nerves. The admission that yes it was too rough is on the tip of his tongue.

M'Baku called him 'insufferable' earlier. That and a 'slut' yet he seemed to think a lot about pregnancy and the sort of things T'Challa would never let happen. 

"—Do you want me to tell you to stop?—" T'Challa's pride wouldn't allow him to admit it was too much but if M'Baku wanted to play... then it wouldn't be so bad.

M'Baku huffs, pausing for a split second to recenter and focus his attention on that bundle of nerves deep inside T'Challa, overworking the pleasure inside. "I want you to understand why I'm doing this. You think I'm your villain who treats you like shit because he cares about whether you live or die, huh? I'm not." He pauses. "But I could be. I could fuck you roughly every time till you can't leave my bed, because you're hurt or because your full of my child, I don't care, but I don't." He snakes a hand in-between the two of them and wraps it around T'Challa's cock, stroking.

T'Challa can't focus on anything. Least of all what M'Baku is saying. Not when every other thrust drags on his prostate and M'Baku starts to touch him. M'Baku wanted to dominate him wasn't that what all this was for? Cowing him into something more 'pliant?' 

He's approaching his limit. "M'Baku—" he doesn't want the man to stop but it's too much.

"What is it, T'Challa?" The smug bastard asked as if he didn't know exactly what it was that T'Challa wanted to tell him. "Do you want me to do something? Perhaps-" He slowed his hips down to a snail’s pace, not a complete stop but enough to snatch pleasure away.

"No... Don't stop—" T'Challa pushes against M'Baku, insistent, if lacking his usual power. "You're hurting me, don't stop just be—" T'Challa stumbles over the word 'gentle.'

"Gentle? Soft? Compliant? Like I usually am when you take advantage of me, of my poor cock? I think it's insulted, and perhaps it wants revenge." Is it weird to anthropomorphize your own dick? M'Baku doesn't dwell on this because he's starting to pick his pace up again, slapping his hips into T'Challa's with a certain roughness that's animalistic. "I know you can handle it, come on kitten, meow for me."

M'Baku resumes the punishing pace from before and T'Challa wants to scream. If this were a normal situation, he would be able to 'handle' it, M'Baku's ridiculously proportional girth aside. But it isn't, he's too open, with no leverage, made to take what M'Baku gave him, insult, and compliment both. His vision is starting to swim and M'Baku isn't touching his dick anymore. The angle is painfully perfect and T'Challa can feel tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. 

The pet name 'kitten' fits perfectly now. M'Baku has him spread like a bitch in heat. One that's been annoying their owner for ages and was finally being fucked the way they'd been pleading for. He doesn't have the energy to muffle himself, and the sounds he's making are enough to embarrass him for weeks to come.

“That’s it, let it out, let everyone hear you and know who’s fucking you full. Are you going to cum for me, kitten? Cum with my dick buried inside you?” He asks, although it’s really more of a direction. He knows the smaller man is close and he’s ready to see him fall apart underneath him, so he moves fast and hard and whispers small curses into his skin.

M'Baku oh so helpfully reminds him that not only was he being loud but that others in this area of the house might even be hearing him. T'Challa's reaction is mostly mortified. There was a persona he presented to most of Wakanda and a cat in heat wasn't part of it. Nor was he happy with the implication of M'Baku being the one to make him so incoherent. His mortification doesn't stop his impending orgasm though and soon he has to press his face into M'Baku's shoulder to muffle himself. His face is wet with tears and his entire body is shuddering.

M’Baku doesn’t stop, fucking him through his orgasm and into overstimulated territory. It’s only when his own body starts to betray how close he is that he considers a plan of action. Almost reluctantly, he pulls out. “As nice as it would be to get you pregnant, I can help thinking how pretty you would be painted in my cum and yours.” He mused, jerking himself the rest of the way, and letting out an animalistic groan as he came, shooting cum onto T’Challa’s chest. He was right, T’Challa looked gorgeous.

M'Baku pulls out and T'Challa is momentarily stunned. Outside of the strong discomfort (he's too sensitive for any of this) he hadn't expected the man to pull out. Bast, a part of him had come tonight with the express wish he wouldn't. A stupid, ill attempt to overwrite the events of this afternoon maybe. He breathes into the new silence and tries to find some semblance of calm. "Let me go, M'Baku." They've made a mess and he wanted to be clean before the mess dried on him.

M’Baku groans but releases him none-the-less, rolling over so he is on his back next to him, breathing a few deep breaths. No words came from the larger man, he didn’t feel like T’Challa was going to listen to him anyway. He’d made his feeling clear, M’Baku was just a meaningless fling, a stress reliever, nothing else. He gets up, eventually, and heads for his bathroom to shower. He doesn’t need to offer for T’Challa to join, he would if that’s what he wanted.

They bathe in silence. T'Challa maintains a certain distance and pretends walking doesn't hurt. He misses the herb more than anything in moments like this, no reliable healing after rigorous (too rough) sex. M'Baku in turn is uncharacteristically quiet. It would bother T'Challa more if he wasn't remembering in vivid quality what drove him to the man's home in the first place. He steps out of the bath when M'Baku does, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel and sitting mutely on the bed. 

He hadn't told M'Baku the real reason he was upset, besides the invasion of privacy. There was another reason N'Jadaka suddenly cared about T'Challa's health.

M’Baku wants to ask if T’Challa is staying with him tonight, but what he actually verbalizes is “You can leave, if that’s what you really want.” It’s a throwback to the earlier conversation, as well as an acknowledgement that T’Challa might not want to come back after that. That’s one of the reasons he went so hard, because he thought this would be the last time between the two of them.

"Do you want me to leave?" He wouldn't stay if he wasn't wanted. His words before had been said out of annoyance more than anything. That M'Baku would think even for a moment N'Jadaka 'cared' for him, or his well-being.

“Of course not, but that doesn’t matter.” not to you, at least he finishes, acknowledging how much he sounds like a spoiled and bitter brat right now. Another time he might have been upset by his behavior, perhaps tried to calm down but damn it, he was hurting. He settled in bed, staring blankly across the room at nothing in particular.

T'Challa takes the invitation for what it is and undoes the towel to get back under the covers. The bed smells like sex but the layer they fucked on has been removed. "Are you still angry with me?" He supposes he should care why.

“More with myself, but you’re an easier target to take it out on.” He laments, then pauses. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” He doesn’t know if it does to T’Challa, he suspects that he’s taking this all far too seriously, letting his emotions pull him apart, but part of him hopes so so that T’Challa can at least understand what he’s feeling. He’s fine with the sex. He doesn’t like being an emotional punching bag.

It did hurt, even if T'Challa is still not sure what M'Baku is complaining about. Did he not want to fuck T'Challa anymore? When had T'Challa treated him badly? "Why would you be angry with yourself? It's... just sex."

“It’s-“ he tries to express to T’Challa what is happening in his head but no words form that could express it to him. “It’s my problem, you shouldn’t worry about it. Forget about it. I’m sorry, that was cruel of me.” In the face of actually having to express his problems and face his emotions M’Baku chooses instead to relinquish ground, internalize everything, and then probably go scream on a mountain somewhere.

Now T'Challa is confused. "Don't be sorry... It felt good. Why did you pull out?" He could have taken something in the morning... or not. See which spirits were listening.

“Because, contrary to popular opinion, I am not a selfish monster and I do not want to see you suffer like that. I’m only selfish enough to believe I’m better than that.” He explains. “I’ve resigned myself to the fact that having a relationship and carrying my child is not the path you’ll take in life and no amount of force on my part can fix that.”

"If I wanted you to pull out, I would have told you so." T'Challa doesn't like the reminder from M'Baku that the man had indeed thought about this more deeply than T'Challa ever would. Freshly bathed and with the memories of the last few hours on his mind, he's walking a very dangerous line.

“Sometimes what you want and what is good for you aren’t the same thing, T’Challa. I made a decision based on what I thought was best for your health as well as my own status as council member and leader of my people. I don’t regret that.” The lord explained.

"Do you want me to ask explicitly?" The moment he says it T'Challa regrets it. He doesn't know where this boldness is coming from, what he thinks could possible result from--but he waits anyway for M'Baku's answer.

This startles a laugh from M’Baku, but not a jolly one. “Of course! I always want you to be more clear, actually ask me for what you want. You’re far too vague, and then you get upset when I don't give you what you want.” He pauses. “What would you ask me for?”

T'Challa shakes his head. "I'm being foolish. Forget it." He pulls himself a bit further under the covers and wills the dangerous thoughts, feelings, and i'll gain wishes aside. This was just how things were, no need to buy more trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, Happy Valentines <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Artemis for being my M'Baku <3


End file.
